Openly
by OKami-hu
Summary: After an argument with Sam, Bumblebee seeks out Ratchet for company and advise; and they help each other relax the sweetest way.


Hi. This is yet another piece co-authored with kujazlilmage. It was written ...wow, some half a year ago, actually, but it's still lovely! She played Bee and I played Ratchet. And yes, my Ratchet is more of a medic, and a diplomat, and a kind-sparked bot. Enjoy.

* * *

The old hangar was quiet as ever; only the medic's fumbling and the persistently drumming rain disturbed the stillness. Ratchet was doing what he always did: disassembling Earth vehicles and trying to use those parts to make the parts their more sophisticated Cybertronian systems needed. Ratchet, despite the task being quite tedious, liked it; finally, he could stop being a field medic and enjoy the peace he wanted for so long. 

But the quiet had little time left to its lifespan—cycles passed, with the rain falling hard outside, interrupted by occasional thunder. It only served to mark the pause between Ratchet dismantling one of the vehicles and a certain yellow Camaro driving in from the rain, engine rumbling, completely soaked. His tires were caked with fresh mud and there was evidence that he'd been speeding more than he probably should have been in the current weather.

Upon arriving at the hangar, Bumblebee transformed, ignoring that he left sloshes of mud all over the ground in the process. He would clean it up later; right now, he was just happy to be in familiar company.

The medic looked up at the racket, his optics narrowing first, then widening with delight. "Bumblebee. What a pleasant surprise. Come in, take a seat. What brought you here?" Then, he scowled lightly. "Why didn't you radio me first that you're coming, and just what did you do outside in this terrible weather for so long...? You're considerably wetter than you should be."

Bright blue optics flickered, Bee's fixed vocal processors whirring out sound. "...Sorry," he replied. "I...had a disagreement with Sam." And that was actually half of the reason why Bumblebee was so wet--he'd just been driving by himself on one of the highways. Driving always helped him in the past when something upsetting happened; and that was when it started to rain. He ignored it for about...two earth hours, before making his way to the hangar, deciding that it was company that he needed instead of alone time.

"Oh." Ratchet pushed the old Dodge's frame aside and leaned forward. "That's very unlike you two, to be separated, let alone harboring anything ill towards each other no matter how briefly. Would you like to talk about it?" His voice was soft and warm, his optics shining with understanding. Ratchet loved Bee—it was hard not to love the 'little brother' of the Autobots.

Bumblebee visibly tensed, making it clear how hesitant he was to look back on it, because it was true: it was unusual for him and Sam to argue. Though, lately, it hadn't been quite as unusual as he would like...

"...I was looking forward to an attempt at relaxing today," he began. "To...'take a break'; recharge my systems. A lot has happened lately, not including those tiresome run-ins with Barricade some Earth days ago. I informed Sam of this, but he seems to have disregarded my request. He asked if I would take he and Mikaela somewhere this evening."

Bumblebee paused, blue optics staring intently forward; he absently picked off a piece of dirt that was bothering one of his tires.

"In short...a polite refusal turned into a very heated argument." Although he didn't have a real "mouth", enough of Bumblebee's expression and body language could tell the story of a frown.

"He was taking your presence granted," Ratchet summarized wisely. "I see. It seems the boy got a little carried away." He moved closer to sit next to the yellow mech, and snuck a green arm around the slender shoulders. "I'm sure that by now, he already regrets everything he said. Such a thing won't be able to come between you."

There was a pause before Bumblebee nodded, chirping forlornly. He was glad to have such caring comrades. Sometimes even more so with Ratchet—after all, Bumblebee owed the medic his voice and, more recently, his legs. And pretty soon, they would all owe Ratchet a fallen ally, as well.

"I will return to his house when the weather clears up," he promised. Then, adding after a moment, looking up with curiosity and concern: "How is Jazz?"

"He is steadily improving." The pride was immense in Ratchet's voice, even if it was never his style to boast. "I'm nearly done with his body, and when the repairs are at least on 50, I'll reboot his CPU. With his Spark active, there should be no problems." He missed the small silver Bot, as any of them, and did everything to bring him back online. Thank Primus for that last tiny shard remaining from the Allspark…if nothing else, it stirred the rapidly dimming core in the lieutenant's chest back to full radiance. Ratchet spent days awake and frantically working with only the briefest periods of recharge, to somehow sustain the spark chamber, to keep the resurrected core alive; and he succeeded.

Bumblebee's posture lifted a little and he buzzed happily. "That's great. It'll be good to hear his voice again."

"Yes," the medic nodded, agreeing one-hundred percent. "He is our light; the one who is always able to look at the bright side of things and cheer us up. However, we'll have to operate without him for a little while longer." He chuckled, a deep, surprisingly velvety sound from a giant alien robot. "You're sitting in a puddle, little Bee."

His optics blinked and Bumblebee looked down, seeing that he was dripping water and mud and, indeed, sitting in a giant puddle. He stood up a little quickly, embarrassed. "Oh! I...didn't notice. I'm sorry. I could clean it up right away," he offered.

"The cleaning equipment is in the corner," The medic said smoothly, and he stood up as well. The hangar was big enough to be divided to three parts: Ratchet's private quarters, the "med bay"—where Jazz's body lay at the moment—and the 'workshop' with the old cars. Ratchet quickly packed his things away, and left for a minute to check his room—it was warmer and more comfortable to sit and chat, and the little scout was welcomed to enter.

Bumblebee quickly picked up the cleaning equipment after Ratchet pointed it out. He not only cleaned up the puddle and the drips he'd left, but he also used them to clean off what muddy parts he could reach, drying them afterwards. He kept at it until he'd rid himself of most of the mud and water, enough that he wasn't dripping and that whatever was left could be cleaned off later.

Once it was finished, Bumblebee looked about, chirping to himself. Ratchet wasn't in sight. He was either in the med bay or his quarters. Bumblebee made quick work of deducing which one it was, going towards Ratchet's private quarters and calling out. "Ratchet? May I come in?"

"Of course, little one," the kind reply came, "Come in, sit—if you're dry enough..." The medic settled down on his recharge berth, patting the smooth surface next to him. The air was indeed warmer here, creating a more comfortable atmosphere.

Bumblebee was happy to join in that case, smiling with his optics and hopping up on top of the recharge berth next to Ratchet. "Plenty," he said dismissively, canceling any concern for water puddles.

"Good." The medic patted the yellow shoulders. "Now, aside that little argument, is there anything else bothering you? Injuries? Malfunctions?"

The yellow bot gave it a moment of thought. "...Barricade may have damaged some of my inner mechanics. I've felt something rattling lately whenever I'm driving."

"That brat just can't sit on his aft..." Ratchet grumbled, while he whipped out his in-built tools. "Where? I'll take a look immediately."

Bee did a systems scan to make sure he was certain, then twisted a little and pointed a finger at his right side.

"Alright, lie down, stretch out comfortably. I think I already have an idea what this might be." Again—like always, actually—Ratchet was radiating professionalism. His large, warm hand gently directed Bee into the right position, and his scanners were searching for the source of the trouble. "Since when exactly is the problem present?"

"Since three solar cycles ago," Bumblebee replied. "That was when it began to get noticeable. Before that, when I ran system scans, it didn't seem like anything to worry about."

"I see. Hmmm." The medic probed deeper, pressing against the rather flexible armor at the appropriate area. "Does this hurt? Tell me honestly."

Bumblebee was usually very good to sit still during check-ups, and this was no exception--though he did flinch slightly, optics shuttering and opening again.

"...Yes," he admitted. Check-ups were always quick with Ratchet. It seemed there wasn't a miracle the medic couldn't work.

Ratchet hummed again. "It's a little more difficult than I thought first. I'll need to reach your insides, and the armor is not helping in that. Little Bee, transform into your protoform for me. I can reach your injury better that way. Something seems to be loose in there, I'll have to weld it back...perhaps even change it."

The yellow bot nodded, disregarding any hesitance—all Cybertronians were vulnerable in their protoforms, but Bumblebee knew that he could trust Ratchet. He sat up a little bit to be more comfortable as he swapped out bright yellow armor for bare-boned metal and wire; within seconds, Bumblebee had effortlessly stripped down all of his outer armoring, stretched out in protoform on the table and glancing up at Ratchet, waiting for diagnosis.

The medic gently spread the sensitive wires, circuit boards and metal parts, and his fingers probed in deeper, stretching the protoform uncomfortably. "I know this doesn't feel great," Ratchet murmured, "But won't last long. Oh…yes, here it is..." He leaned closer and shook his head. "Not good. Replacement is needed." He removed his hand, and soothingly caressed the sensitive surface. "I'll be back in a second with everything we'll need. Relax, little one." He stood up and hurried out to the med bay.

Bumblebee tensed visibly when Ratchet probed as deeply as he did, but he bore with it; once Ratchet was gone, Bumblebee did just as he had suggested and relaxed, vocal processors letting out a whirring sigh when the jolts to his system stopped.

The medic was indeed back soon, and this time, he had everything he needed. He kneeled back, fondly caressed Bee's head and sprayed special cooling liquid on his side. It numbed the receptors and the pain with then. Second, Ratchet pressed something inside - it didn't hurt, but it felt weird—to keep the body open. Finally, he used some more of the liquid, and with some long tweezers, he reached into the opening. "Now, little one, brace yourself, because for a moment, this will hurt."

Bumblebee followed Ratchet's warning and gripped the table, optics flickering sideways at him while he prepared himself. Being warned of it would make it hurt less, actually...Ratchet was a good medic.

The green Autobot steadied his hands, and with a sudden move, he wrenched the damaged part out of the body. It had to be ripped out—fortunately, the replacement would be painless, and much gentler.

Sparks popped and hissed with the quick twisting out of the damaged part; Bumblebee couldn't hold back the yelp of pain that went with it, but he was thankful that it was as swift as Ratchet had promised.

A large, comforting hand smoothed out on his back, masterfully kneading the sensitive protoform. "My brave little youngster..." The medic's slightly amused, but kind voice came, and another dose of the anesthetic. A little more fumbling around, a soft click, and all offending tools were removed. Ratchet carefully massaged the wires and metal bits to their proper place, and leaned above Bee. "Are you alright?"

Optics flickered, but Bumblebee did manage a nod, easily relaxing under Ratchet's kneading hands. His protoform shuddered a little when he affirmed his own response with a more visible bob of his head.

"I'm fine."

"Good." Ratchet's smile was genuine, and he leaned down, toughing his forehead against Bee's. "You're a wonderful creature, Bumblebee. Small but courageous, strong, persistent, and you shine like a star. We should be all thankful that you're here with us." He placed a hand on the scout's chest. "Your spark is so intense…I can feel it pulsing." Another smile, a little mischievous this time. "You look lovely both as a warrior, and in your protoform, have I told you that?"

Rather surprised by this, Bumblebee shivered again in his protoform, fidgeting with the close contact—specifically, Ratchet's hand over his armor-bare chest. His voice processor made a few stuttering clicks before he cut it off, waiting until he could process actual words.

"...I don't believe so, no," he answered honestly, remaining as calm as possible.

A chuckle answered him, and Ratchet moved away. "If I asked you very politely," he began, on a more serious tone, "Would you spend this night here with me? I was starting to feel a little alone... Jazz, in his current state, is not too talkative. The berth is wide enough for both of us, and come the morrow, I'll take one more look at your injury before you head back."

A pause fell, Bumblebee buzzing quietly as he mulled the thought over in his processors. Sympathy won him over; he managed another nod.

"Of course," he replied easily. He had a feeling the return to Sam's house may be further away than he first guessed.

Ratchet smiled again, and quickly put out of almost all the lights—just the various devices were still glowing, and a few small lamps, marking the way to the med bay—the medic was not fitted with night vision. Soon, the bigger, sturdier body slid next to Bee's—and the scout could feel that it was not covered by armor.

The scout could just barely make out Ratchet's protoform in the now dimly-lit dark room, shifting enough to be comfortable with the added presence of Ratchet on the recovery berth beside him. His blinking optics were completely focused on the medic.

"Ratchet..." Bumblebee lifted a hand when Ratchet slid next to him, grazing with some hesitance against a protoform chest, skimming threadbare plating and wire.

A soft sigh answered him—perhaps there was delight in it?—and an arm came around him, pulling Bee a little bit closer. "I'm listening, little one. What's on your mind?" The inquiry was gently, even a touch encouraging.

Bumblebee all but melted with how comfortable this was, being with Ratchet. Both professionally and personally, Ratchet had a way with soothing, in his own sense. It was enough for Bumblebee to know and understand just how much trust he could place in him...and it often helped to quell any uncertainties that he felt.

He had both hands on Ratchet's chest now when the medic drew him in, but Bumblebee was quiet after the gentle questioning. His processors ran full-circle back to Sam; which was something he didn't want to worry himself with right now. So, he shook his head. "...Nothing."

There was a momentary pause... a strange intermezzo, filled with something tense. But it subsided, and Bee could i _feel /i _ Ratchet's smile. The medic's hand began to move, massaging the scout's back, deft fingers never scratching anything.

His body nestled up against Ratchet's, a soft airy sound filling the small space between them when the medic's fingers rubbed against the sensitive wires and plating along his back. Bumblebee returned the touch with a few of his own: hands brushing over Ratchet's chest and circling around his sides, adding a little more pressure with each stroke, but careful not to scratch or grate anything.

Soon enough, a curious little noise drifted out into the darkness: a moan. Not one of pain or the unconsciousness of recharge, but a moan of pleasure, and Bee could feel Ratchet's bigger hulk shiver under his touch.

Encouraged by the response, the scout continued with his exploration, hands easing over the medic's hips and up over his back, pulling him down slightly with a press of his open palms. Bumblebee found the small space that served as his neck and nuzzled there, face pressed against the wiring as he gave a low hum against it.

A long, shuddering sigh responded to that, the medic shifting closer, his hand descending to rest on the younger mech's... but it didn't stop the tender ministrations, on the contrary. It started to guide the smaller hand, showing it where to touch, and what pressure to apply.

"Little Bumblebee..." Ratchet murmured, "Please, tell me you intend to take this to its end. This old fool could use your help."

Bumblebee allowed his hand to be guided, following the wordless instructions that showed him what to do and committing them to his data banks. After a moment or two he no longer needed the assistance, and his hands moved on their own, using the recently acquired knowledge from Ratchet's help, touching and stroking, applying wanted pressure where desired.

He chirped softly when Ratchet spoke, looking up with bright blue optics that glowed in the darkened space. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

The other pair of optics dimmed out completely, and the medic abandoned himself to the scout's caresses. At a point, he slipped a strong leg between Bee's, got a better hold on the smaller protoform, and with a fluid movement, turned thems, so now Ratchet lay on his back, with Bee on top of him. The older mech's fingers were massaging the more narrow shoulders, the sensitive neck wiring, and whenever Bee found a good spot, Ratchet moaned shamelessly, with soft whirrs and a few clicks. He even uttered a few Cybertronian words, affirmations and endearments. Inside his broad chest, his spark was throbbing more wildly by the second, the bluish light seeping through the tiny crevices of the spark chamber. Protoform, lacking the armor completely, had only one lock, one layer of metal protecting their core.

Bumblebee was no less encouraged than before; completely relaxed now in Ratchet's hands, and moaning himself in response to the medic's massages and strokes. He wasn't at all surprised how precise Ratchet's hands were—he was a medic, after all. If anything, it helped even more, Bumblebee leaning into each and every touch, making soft noises of approval when Ratchet found a particularly sensitive bundle of wiring.

He caught sight of the medic's spark chamber, seeing the pale blue glow that seeped out between the sealed cracks of the plating. His own spark was just as bright by now, pulsing in its chassis, and he knew exactly what was next. Leaning over the medic, Bumblebee made a few Cybertronian clicks and whirrs, tone shy and questioning, even as he prepared to switch off the lock on his spark chamber— i _ready now?_ /i

The medic's optics flared to life, surprise filling them... and astonishment. "You... You'd like to bond... with me? Little Bumblebee, I can get by without it... though, if you really want that, I'll be thankful. I just don't want you to do anything you're not one-hundred percent comfortable with." Sparkbonding was a serious thing, only meant for those who completely trusted each other; either as comrades, ready die for the other, or as mates, bound by the golden chains of love.

The scout seemed a little disappointed with the response, tilting his head a little to the side. "Are you sure?" He asked. Maybe he'd jumped a little far ahead? "You just seemed like you really wanted to..."

Ratchet let out a shuddering sigh, and pulled the smaller mech closer. "I want it. It's been so long, my spark is aching for it. But, I'd be slagged if I weren't concerned for you, little one. I don't want you to expose your spark just because you feel obliged to do that, because I'm older, or a medic, or whatever. Our spark is our greatest treasure, source of our life energy and our personalities. I don't want you to have any regrets afterwards; that's all."

Bumblebee fell quiet. It almost seemed like his voice processor may have broken again, if neither of them knew any better. He was still in Ratchet's embrace, soaking in the dim glow that lit the space between them while he thought, considering the Medic's response.

After several cycles, the scout looked at Ratchet, hands against his chest. "I know that," he replied, "But...you're my friend. Ironhide and Jazz and Prime, too; I owe you my voice and my legs. Even if you say that shouldn't matter here..." he never took away his gaze, optics fixed on Ratchet's. "...I think I am a little nervous...but I don't feel I would have any regrets. I trust you, Ratchet."

"Little Bee..." another soft caress lingered around the neck, fingertips tracing the vocal module, "thank you." And with that, the medic's chest shifted open, revealing the brightly glowing blue-white orb in his spark chamber. The light illuminated the room with its pure, sacred radiance.

"I'm ready," Ratchet whispered; his voice, albeit quiet, still filled with burning need.

Bee reared back a little in surprise when pale light flooded the tiny space they shared, reflecting off his optics. He felt more than a little humbled now, that Ratchet would be willing to share this—to bond sparks. The scout steeled himself, mentally, brushing away any nervousness that might stop him as the light from Ratchet's spark continued to pulse in soft waves of light.

Seconds after, Bumblebee's own chamber clicked with its unlocking, and the thin final layer of plating peeled back with a quiet hiss of hydraulics. The bluish light doubled its intensity when Bee's spark was revealed in its chamber, and he shifted his position a little bit, just to get comfortable. Then he carefully leaned down, shrinking the light's radius until it was just between them, their frames chest-to-chest, tendrils of white and blue light reaching out and mingling and pulling them—pulling their i _sparks_ /i _—_together.

The medic's body tensed, and he practically whined; the tiny, soft noise sounded a bit amusing, coming from such a large Bot. Ratchet felt his own spark arching up, practically snuggling close to Bee's, relishing in his youthful innocence. Sparks held much - feelings, memories; and during a bonding session, it was not unusual, to tap into the partner's deeper consciousness, receiving more or less clear data about what he or she felt, thought, remembered. Moreover, each spark represented its owner strongly—the other's presence became more apparent, when not perceived physically, but with the soul itself.

Bee's purity, which the scout still retained despite all the millennia passed, filled with grief, and the horrors of the battles, was most welcomed by the older mech, who had considerably less enthusiasm and had seen too much.

Bumblebee wasn't exempt from moaning, either--one escaped him when they were brought together, optics shuttering while he all but melted. He felt i _everything_ /i —all that was Ratchet suddenly touched him in a way that only sparkbonding could allow. At first, Bumblebee was a little overwhelmed and made a shuddering chirp aloud; his sense of Ratchet and of himself grew stronger on a whole new level, and it took him a cycle or two to get used to it.

Then, his consciousness began to seep out in curious threads, seeking Ratchet out—hesitant, but braving it.

The medic was all too eager to respond, embracing the little scout's consciousness eagerly, soaking up his troubles and joys alike.

"Dear little Bumblebee... thank you." The sentence came through the internal com-link, not the vocalizer. "I'm honored by your trust. Share your troubles with me... they'll lessen, I can promise that."

He felt a filling warmth when Ratchet reached out with his conscience, wrapping Bumblebee up in it as he did. The younger bot physically arched forward, pressing slightly more against Ratchet's frame with a vocal whimper.

His confidence renewed after Ratchet spoke through the com-link. Bumblebee seemed to be at a loss for his voice again, reaching a point where words were no longer satisfactory. Gradually, his mental walls came down, the thick tendrils of light between their sparks growing in number and intensity as the memories began to flitter back and forth with everything Bumblebee was willing to share.

Images and emotions were opened up to Ratchet like flicking on a switch, systematically showing themselves, one-by-one, starting with the small worries and working to the greater. Sam and the argument earlier that day, the boy's lips pressed thin, hurt and misconception in every part of his expression--fresh, but unimportant on the grand scale. Prime and his constant worrying; something snuck in there, from Bumblebee's point of view, about wanting to do something to cheer their leader up, to take away some of the stress. The Decepticons. Barricade especially, with all of his active mayhem. i _Jazz._ /i

Ratchet accepted everything his smaller companion shared, and that alone already eased some of the tension. He responded with reassuring waves of energy, soothing the worries, hinting possible solutions, pointing out things which were not worth worrying about. He was a good healer, and he enjoyed that like this, he was able to reach into a companion's mind and soul, for more healing.

His physical body was enjoying it, as well. His fingers still roamed over the smaller protoform on top of him, probing for spots, which might make Bee squeal with pleasure.

And Bumblebee did physically shiver when Ratchet's fingers skimmed sensitive bundles of wiring, vocally crackling in encouragement when they came across a mirrored set on either side of his hips. The physical aspect began to leak into the psychological, the soothing reaffirmations from Ratchet being accepted and appreciated and returned only seconds before a gently vibrating pulse of pure i _pleasure_ /i one that caused Bee's spark to thrum and flutter with each outward send.

He decided it was only fair he try to do the same--the scout's hands were soon as busy as Ratchet's, or as busy as Bee could keep them without being distracted. Having already been shown what to do from earlier, he knew exactly where to rub and how much, focusing on those areas while hoping to find new ones in the meanwhile.

Ratchet responded in kind, arching his frame, pressing their sparks even closer. He shivered, and applied a little more pressure, his pleasure evident through the current link between the sparks. This was not like any other kind of bonding—because transformers had several options if they wanted to reach overload. Sparkbonding was usually a relaxing experience. It helped to heal, and to understand. It sated the soul, too.

The physical body was already reacting, core temperature rising rapidly, the internal warning signals buzzing, signaling the usual malfunctions—Ratchet offlined the diagnostics with an annoyed impulse. He knew perfectly well what was happening, and he wanted to enjoy it without even the slightest of distraction.

Bumblebee was becoming more and more sensitive as the cycles clicked by, responsive in full to Ratchet's loving hands and to the thickening tendrils of consciousness that flowed back and forth between their sparks. The intensity grew to an almost overwhelming pulse, and Bumblebee heard the warning signals buzzing in the back of his head, but it was little else except a dull drone, like hearing a gnat: annoying but easy to ignore.

The scout nudged his body forward as far as it was allowed without causing undue stress or overshooting the bond, making little noises accompanied by psychological chants that reached out through the com-link--happiness, trust, comfort, an underlying plea for more.

And Ratchet was happy to give. He curled around Bee's spark entwining his own light-tendrils with his, a bit like humans used to lace their fingers together in those interesting movies the medic sometimes watched, tapping into Earth media channels. Even though their biological differences, transformers and humans both needed the closeness of their partner. Sometimes, Ratchet wondered how an intimate affair feels to the organics—they did it so differently, a lot more frantically. But he rather hoped they had the chance to experience something similar to sparkbonding; because it was the best feeling on the whole world. That completeness it brought, was unmatched by any other unison. Sparks once all belonged to a bigger whole—the Allspark—and they were eager to come together, to return into their ancient state: being one.

Overload was not too far away now; the blue sizzles running over the protoform were telltale signs of the rapidly building excess energy.

Bumblebee's hydraulics hissed with excess pressure and crackling threads of electricity popped and crackled over sensitized plating and wires, building up as fast as it was being released. Bee sometimes focused a little of the energy into his touches over Ratchet's protoform, at the same time soaking up and embracing the warmth between them, clasping Ratchet's spark-tendrils with his own, gravity and other forces keeping them close. The warning signs buzzed louder and louder in the back of Bee's head, and he finally couldn't ignore that gnat-like twitch, offlining it as he felt himself reaching the peak of how much energy he could hold.

He clung to Ratchet, both physically and mentally, needy and giving and a mess of other things barely kept in check. Excitement, no longer worrying, too busy with the task at hand.

It all finally reached a head, and Bumblebee's optics flickered off, a last wave of energy jumping from him as the overload surged through his systems.

The overload was crashing down like a lightning, a tsunami. It stole Ratchet's voice, and made his body tense up, grinding almost painfully against Bee's smaller frame. Their sparks became one, or so it felt, and the pent up energy released in one powerful surge, rushing through every wire, purging the neuro-grid. The medic's whole body shook, fine tremors wrecking his powerful limbs.

It didn't last long, but it felt perfect. Nearly every system and receptor was blissfully fried out, even if it lasted only for a minute or so.

Bumblebee wasn't far behind Ratchet. The overload crashed into him hard, offlining him in seconds with the ecstatic surge that accompanied it. When he managed to get back online, his inside wirings still felt like they were sizzling. They probably were.

The medic was still radiating heat, his internal parts cooling off slowly. When he saw Bee coming back to himself again, he smiled, and tightened his hold around the scout. "Thank you, little Bee. Are you feeling alright?"

Bumblebee's optics were flickering on and off before they settled, and he just nodded, more enthusiastic about nuzzling up close to Ratchet's frame as his internal systems worked furiously to cool off all of the excess heat.

Ratchet chuckled. "An honest recharge is in order, I believe. Sleep tight, little one, as the humans would say. Tomorrow, the sun will shine."

And actually, he didn't mean it as a weather forecast.


End file.
